


Lost and Found

by seducing_a_vampire



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Cats, Cats on leashes, Fancy litter boxes, Fluff, Have you ever drunk purchased something? What about a cat?, M/M, Simon Snow is Gay for Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Texting, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, dev is bad at cat sitting, using literary research to avoid thinking about your crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26811577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seducing_a_vampire/pseuds/seducing_a_vampire
Summary: Simon Snow finds a lost cat with blue eyes and ginger fur. To his surprise, he sees on the ID tag that the cat's name is also Simon.He tries to return cat-Simon to his owner, but things get complicated along the way...**On hiatus, but not forgotten!**
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 31
Kudos: 70





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

> **New chapter on hold until January probably, sorry!**
> 
> I got this prompt idea from @carryonprompts on tumblr! 
> 
> This is my first writing in a bit, and my first fanfic ever. I've had a lot of fun writing this! Thanks for giving it a shot. :)

**SIMON:**

I’m just leaving work when I see him. The cat, I mean. I look up from my phone to see him bolt across the busy street—only dodging a light blue convertible because its driver slams on the brakes—and then dart into the alley next to the bakery. I nearly drop my tea. 

I actually do drop my phone, face down on the filthy pavement. When I bend down to pick it up, eyes skipping up to the alley where the cat disappeared and then flicking down again, I spy the screen and growl angrily. White lines fill the whole space like a chaotic, expensive spider web. 

I hastily shove the useless phone in my pocket and follow the cat into the alley, moving cautiously. _I don’t want to scare him away._ I’ve always liked cats. I hope this one hasn’t gone too far. After the rush of a near-death (or just stressful) experience, I usually like to relax, have a snack, and not think too much or try too hard with anything. A nice nap always helps, too. Maybe this cat is the same way. 

Luckily, it seems we have that in common. I’ve barely walked three meters when I find him curled up underneath a big black window on the right wall of the alley.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Hey, buddy, are you okay?” 

The cat blinks at me. It is a beautiful cat, with ginger fur so fluffy it’s almost curly. I hesitantly reach out a hand, pleased when he lets me stroke his back. _Goodness, that’s soft._ He lifts up his head, leaning into the touch, and I spot a silver tag hanging from his collar. _Aha!_

I pick up the metal tag between my thumb and index finger and squint at it to see the engraving. It’s in some sort of posh font, so it’s a bit hard to read at first, but then I see: 

_Simon_

_020 7932 5229_

My eyebrows spring up in surprise. I look back at the cat’s face, smiling slightly. “Well, I guess we have even more in common than I thought.”

  
  
  


***

When I open the door to my flat twenty minutes later, I am carrying cat-Simon. He’s been mewing with a distinct note of displeasure for the past ten minutes. 

“I know, I know,” I tell him, setting my now-cold tea on the counter and placing him gently on the floor. “But what else was I supposed to do? Buy a leash and walk you home? Do you know how stupid that would’ve looked? Only prats walk cats with a leash. Probably prats who wear suits and use fancy-scented litter boxes, too.”

An image of Baz, the fanciest prat I know, comes unbidden into my mind. Baz, walking a cat in a posh suit with his characteristic sneer on his face. Yeah, he would be the kind of person to walk a cat like that, the tosser. His cat’s litter box would probably smell like his shampoo: cedar and bergamot. The scent always lingered in our bathroom.

I don’t actually know how I feel about Baz anymore. We met when we were eleven years old, when we both started at Watford Boarding School. 

We were roommates for eight years at Watford, enemies for 7.5, and for a few months we were… not friends exactly, but we had a tentative truce. I had agreed to help him figure out if our headmaster, Mr. Mage, had been involved in a scheme to discredit his mother’s academic research and career. 

Baz’s mother had been the previous headmaster at Watford, and she was accused of a bunch of nasty stuff right—then, just a couple of weeks after all that broke, she died unexpectedly in a fire. Baz was only a kid when it happened. It turned out that Mr. Mage actually had been behind all of that, which really sucked. Mr. Mage had been the one who sponsored my scholarship to attend Watford in the first place.

In our last term at Watford, after we figured all this out, Baz exposed him and he was fired. Baz and I were working together in that whole thing, but everything was still a little shaky. Anyway, when we graduated, we weren’t enemies anymore, but that was about it. I haven’t seen him since our graduation a year ago.

I shake my head, trying to stop thinking about all this, and follow cat-Simon into the living room. He’s stretched out in a patch of sunlight in front of our couch, right next to a pile of Penny’s books on the floor. I kneel down next to him.

“I don’t reckon it’s your fault, but I still might blame you for breaking my phone, Simon,” I say, scratching at the base of his ears. To be fair, the phone had been mostly broken for a few weeks now, but this was the final straw. He looks up at me, and for the first time I notice blue eyes. Unusual for a cat, especially a ginger. Damn if they don’t look cool, though.

Staring absently at the stack of books, still scratching cat-Simon, I wonder for the thirtieth time in as many minutes what I should do with him now. Obviously, I want to get him back to his human, but my phone is a goner now. I won’t be able to afford a new one until the bakery gives me my next paycheck on Friday.

Luckily, Penny should be home from work in a few hours. I guess we’ll just wait for her— we can use her phone to text the owner. 

In the meantime, I stretch out on the floor next to cat-Simon. His blue eyes are closed now. It’s midday, but my shift started before the sun rose today, and I’m beat. I close my own eyes and fall asleep in seconds.


	2. Isn't this a bit much, even for me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dev's not a great cat-sitter, okay?

**BAZ:**

“I don’t understand what you’re telling me,” I say slowly. “You lost my cat?” 

For a few moments, there’s silence on the other end of the phone, and then my imbecilic cousin responds: “Not exactly.”

I wait, closing my eyes to block out my own idiotic decision to trust Dev to watch my cat while I was away. 

“Not exactly… lost,” he continues, and he has the grace to sound slightly abashed. “More like… he was yearning for freedom, and I think now he’s found himself. He was probably jealous of you fucking off to Egypt to find yourself, and he wanted a taste of that himself. Makes a lot of sense to me.” Now his voice was picking up some of his usual self-assured swagger.

“I didn’t  _ fuck off to Egypt _ ,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m here on a—”

“I know, I know, you’re there on  _ a very important research trip to study the use of language in power dynamics as portrayed in Shakespeare’s  _ Antony and Cleopatra.” 

I can practically hear his smirk through the phone. I examine my fingernails and wait. 

He continues, “But we both know you’ve been off for the past year because you’re still besotted with a certain human that you haven’t even spoken to since we left Watford. So you jaunt off to go read old letters about how this Roman guy wanted to nail this Egyptian queen just to get Simon out of your mind. 

So forgive me for wondering if when the  _ cat who is fucking named after this guy  _ gets free, we might consider taking that as a sign.”

My heart thumps uncomfortably at his words, but my tone is icy when I respond: “I completed the term with exemplary grades, secured this prestigious research project with a well-respected professor, and already have an internship lined up for second year. If you consider that ‘off,’ I suggest you reevaluate the criteria.”

“Baz, we all know you’re a genius, and we also know you’re fully capable of achieving a great many things while obsessing over your old roommate. That doesn’t mean—”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupt him. I sigh. “I get it. But— you still fucking lost my cat.”

*** 

  
  


When we hang up ten minutes later, Dev has agreed to put up some posters and go look for my cat. I trust that he’ll actually do it, because Niall came home at the end of our conversation, and as soon as he heard what had happened he went off on Dev. I might’ve felt bad if he hadn't just lost my cat. But also, I might not have. 

“I swear, Baz, we will find Simon, so don’t worry,” Niall assured me, and I could picture him glaring at Dev as he said it, his muddy eyes sharp. 

“Do I ever worry?” I asked dryly. And then, more sincerely: “Thanks, Niall.” 

Now, I’m sitting on the balcony of the flat I sublease here in Cairo, drinking seltzer water and thinking about how my damn cursed luck.  _ A cat named Simon  _ . I mean, honestly, if I hadn’t spent considerable energy around my fifth year at Watford training my face never to blush, I’d be flushed right now. I know how ridiculous it is. And on top of all the ridiculousness, the infuriating nightmare of a creature ran away right when it lodged itself in my heart.

The worst part is that Dev is right. I did basically  _ fuck off to Egypt  _ to try to get Simon (real Simon) out of my head. I might've spent the last few months spouting pretentious nonsense about Shakespeare and Egypt and power dynamics to anyone who would listen, but Dev knows that I applied for this research project in a moment of self-loathing and a desperate need to escape. Four weeks in northern Africa sounded pretty good to me.

It was just before Christmas, when I saw Simon for the first time in six months. The sky was spitting cold, gray rain, and I had ducked into a cafe to get a pumpkin mocha breve. Revision week was in full swing. I was running on three or four hours of sleep. 

The owner of the cafe, Ebb, had hung strings of lights all around. As I stood shaking out my umbrella by the door, I looked up and saw him by the register. 

Simon. 

His back was to me, but I recognized those messy, tawny curls in an instant. They were even more golden than usual in the glow of the twinkly lights . My feet felt rooted to the floor, and I stared as his hand reached behind him to scratch at his shoulder blade while he chatted animatedly with the barista. The movement caused his sweatshirt to rise just enough to reveal an inch or two of his lower back. I felt tight panic like a ball in my stomach. Eight years living together at Watford, and we never changed in front of each other. Thank the gods of all that is good and pure for that.

When I saw Simon turn to pick up his tea, I managed to regain my composure and pivot right back out into the sleet. Coward. But then again, Simon has always been the brave one. I’m not sure what he would’ve said to me if he’d seen me, but it would’ve been honest. 

Me, I can’t even be honest with myself. When I saw him at Ebb’s, I had been pretending for months that I was over him. It didn’t even matter, I told myself. I had no way of contacting him— we didn’t even have each other’s phone number, and he had no social media accounts. We weren’t enemies anymore at graduation, but he’d never expressed an interest in maintaining contact, so I had acted the same way.

There was no pretending, even to myself, after my patently stupid response to seeing a perfectly average boy buy a tea at a cafe. I went straight home, finished my last two essays in a mad rush of productivity, got  roaringly intoxicated alone in my flat, and wound up drunkenly scrolling through Petfinder, where I came across a tawny cat with blue eyes named Simon. At this point my body was at least 60% gin. I passed out not long after.

When I woke up the next day, bleary-eyed and woozy, I checked my email to see this:   
  


**TO:** [ tyrannusbasilton@grimmpitch.com ](mailto:tyrannusbasilton@grimmpitch.com)

**FROM:** margaret@westerndragon.com

_ Dear Mr. Pitch, _

_ Thank you for sharing your beautiful story. My wife and I are loath to give up our beloved cat, but our daughter’s allergies are rendering this sad service necessary. We could not have parted with Simon to anyone who we did not feel would give him all the love he deserves, and we are certain this is you! We would be happy to have you adopt Simon, and truly cannot imagine anyone else with him now. You have made this difficult process much easier. Please contact us to arrange details. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Margaret _

Anyway, I couldn’t very well back out of that. So, now I have a cat named after the boy I’m in love with. And Dev left the blasted window of his stupid flat open, and the creature scampered away. And I’m stuck here in Egypt for three more weeks.

I pick up my seltzer and down the rest of it, and then groan. It’s too rich. I know I’m dramatic, but isn’t this a bit much even for my life? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! It is truly so exciting to put these silly words out into the world and know that real humans are reading it. :)
> 
> (I snuck Margaret the Dragon in here, secretly one of my all-time faves.)


	3. Always seems to attract the unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We lean in to look at the phone screen together. “Right, well,” Penny begins in a business-like tone, and then she reads aloud as she types. “‘We have found your cat and would like to arrange a time to return him to you. He is doing well. Regards.’ Okay, send!” 
> 
> “That was so formal, Pen. You sounded like Baz,” I say, leaning back on the couch. Simon picks up his head. He stretches out his back and moves to leap up next to me on the couch, climbing awkwardly onto my legs.
> 
> “Baz!” Penny’s exasperated look is so familiar that I can’t help but grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there demons it's me, ya girl.
> 
> Wow, this took longer than I thought it would to update. Anyway, I should be able to be more regular with the rest of the chapters now!! Thanks for sticking with it. :)

**PENELOPE:**

When I get home from work, I see Simon sprawled out on our floor sleeping, one hand lazily curled up in his hair and the other resting on…. a cat. 

I sigh. Good lord. This boy always does seem to attract the unexpected, doesn’t he? 

The cat, who has thick copper fur and is pretty cute, opens his eyes when I walk toward them. He gazes at me, seems to decide I’m not a concern, and closes his eyes again. 

Simon sighs in his sleep. He looks so peaceful. Goodness knows he’s had his ups and downs the past year. After we left Watford, he was a bit… out of sorts? Like he wasn’t sure how to adjust to the “real world.” 

We got this flat together after graduation, and it was so great for a while, but Simon retreated into himself for a while. Lately, he’s come around a bit more, started talking to some people in his classes, and making more of an effort. Frankly, I haven’t seen him look this relaxed in a while. It’s nice to see.

Simon gives a big snort, and I roll my eyes. “Siiiii- mon,” I sing. He bolts upright, and the cat mews in protest at being rudely jostled. 

“Penny!” He grins as he anchors his palm behind him, twisting his spine like a wine corkscrew to the right ( _ crack _ ), and then to the left ( _ crack _ ). 

“You know that’s bad for your back, Simon!” I scold, wincing, just as I do every day. 

“Yeah, yeah, probably.” He smirks adorably at me. “How was work?”

“Wonderful.” (And I’m being honest. It really was. I’ve been interning for a local politician, and I love every second of it.)

“But, Simon,” I continue. “Do you mind explaining the origin of our new guest?”  The aforementioned guest was still curled up next to Simon, who was scratching him between the ears. 

“Penny— Penny, it’s Simon!” My flatmate’s eyebrows are way up into his forehead now, and he stands up, holding the cat in his arms.

I raise my own eyebrows, and fix him with a withering look. “Yes, I do believe I called you that—”

**SIMON:**

“— No, Penny, it’s Simon, the cat, Simon is the cat!” I blurt out stupidly. Everything I’m saying right now is stupid, but I am in that post-nap phase where the world is a bit fuzzy, and it takes just slightly longer than usual for my brain to process information.

I take a deep breath. Penny is fixing me with her most withering stare. Honestly, sometimes I think her stares could freeze over the entire English Channel. 

“The cat’s name is Simon,” I say, holding him out to her. “Look on the name tag.” Simon mews unhappily at being moved so unceremoniously, and he arches his neck. "Sorry," I tell him.

Penny narrows her thick brown eyebrows now and reaches over to read the shiny tag hanging from Simon’s neck. “Well, that’s adorable, Si. Okay, okay, you can put him down now.” 

Simon is obviously relieved to be let down, and he runs to curl up on the floor next to Penny’s worn copy of  _ We Should All Be Feminists. _

“So, we have this twin cat of yours because…” Penny looks at me expectantly.

“Anyway. So. Yeah.” I stretch my arms up again and let out a yawn. “I saw the cat running away in the middle of the street when I left work earlier, and I couldn’t just leave him to get run over by a car.” 

“I see.” Penny walks back into the kitchen and fills herself a glass of water. She must have just come home;  her purple work bag is still on the floor by the door. 

“And, I dropped my phone,” I wince, plopping down on the couch. “It’s completely shot, Pen. Done-zo. So, that’s why I couldn’t text the owner right away.” 

She gives me a sympathetic look, and I shrug. “It’s fine. I’ll get a new one later this week. So can we text the number on your phone?” 

“Of course.” Penny sets her water down and comes to sit next to me, tapping me lightly on the shoulder. I learn into her, smiling slightly. What would I ever do without Penny?

She pulls out her phone from her back pocket, and I briefly hop off the couch to squat next to Simon and read her the phone number from his tag.

We lean in to look at the phone screen together. “Right, well,” Penny begins in a business-like tone, and then reads aloud as she types. “‘ _ We have found your cat and would like to arrange a time to return him to you. He is doing well. Regards. _ ’ Okay, send!” 

“That was so formal, Pen. You sounded like Baz,” I say, leaning back on the couch. Simon picks up his head. He stretches out his back and moves to leap up next to me on the couch, climbing awkwardly onto my legs.

“Baz!” Penny’s exasperated look is so familiar that I can’t help but grin. “Basilton Grimm-Pitch?!” 

“Of course, who else?” I respond. “He is too posh. Remember him always correcting my grammar and making fun of me when I couldn’t get my words out right?” 

I scowl at the memory, and Penny rolls your eyes. “We were practically kids when he did that. He was nicer toward the end.” 

“Maybe,” I say, rubbing Simon below his chin, just as Penny’s phone chimes. 


	4. Distractions and Cat Emojis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLOOOO! 
> 
> As always, thanks SO much to all of you lovely humans who click/read/kudos/comment. This is all just a big guessing game for me as it is my first fic, so please let me know what you like/don't like! 
> 
> xoxoxo

**BAZ**

When the first message comes through on my phone (silently— I haven’t had sounds on my notifications since 2008), I’m still sitting out on my balcony. There’s a slight breeze in the evening air now, and people are talking and laughing on the street below me. I’m thinking about Simon— mostly the cat, but occasionally unwanted thoughts of my ex-roommate pop up, too.

I wish desperately for a distraction. My violin is always good for distracting me from problems I can’t control (I hate to admit how many times I tried to music away my annoying crush on Simon), but I don’t have it with me right now. It wasn’t practical to bring for just a few weeks. I think about going to the corner store to buy some cigarettes, but I decide against it.

I’m just opening Spotify on my phone to play a Kishi Bashi song when I see the text:

_ We have found your cat and would like to arrange a time to return him to you. He is doing well. Regards. _

My heart stops. Someone has Simon! Someone who seems at least reasonably competent. I’m picturing a stodgy old lady with a tight gray bun. Probably loves cats. Simon is doing fine; he’s not out wandering the streets of London lonely and confused and hurt.

Speaking of hurt, this development is extremely fortunate for Dev’s well-being. 

I close my eyes and breathe several hundred sighs of relief, but then I go back to worrying. Should I convince Dev to go get Simon now? No doubt he owes me. And he did promise to watch Simon. But the wanker would probably lose him again. 

In any case, I need to respond to this person. I type:

_ Thank you for your message. I am out of town right now, and my cousin has been watching Simon for me. I will contact him to see if we can arrange a convenient time for him to get Simon. _

I trust Dev more when he’s with Niall, but Niall’s going back to Ireland to visit his family in a few days. I won’t be home for another three weeks. Fiona would rather drink rancid milk than cat-sit for me. Mordelia adores Simon, but she and my parents are off on holiday in Italy. Bloody summer. Everyone’s gone. 

My heartbeat starts to quicken at the thought of Simon, alone. I love that nightmare of a cat. It’s not his fault that he represents an embarrassing emotional display that I had for his human namesake. 

My idiot cousin doesn’t answer his phone when I call. I try Niall next, but I just get a voicemail in his charming Irish voice telling me to text him instead.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter to myself, shaking the half-melted ice in my empty glass. 

I’m trying to figure out my next move when my phone vibrates on my knee. I click on the new message and read: 

_ Hey it’s fine, your cat is having a grand ole time!  _

Another message with a photo comes right after the first one, and I gaze upon a blurry photo of my stupid cat gracelessly sprawled out on an unfamiliar gray tile floor. 

Two more messages follows in quick succession:

_Seriously we love your cat and would like to keep him._ ** _👀_** [**_😻_**](https://emojipedia.org/smiling-cat-with-heart-eyes/)

My eyebrow quirks up. Apart from anything else, this slightly alters the image of the gray-haired lady in a musty apartment that I had in my head. 

And then:

_ Okay so my friend says I can’t say that because it’s weird. Anyway I promise we are taking really good care of him!  _

Well, then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a lovely day!

**Author's Note:**

> [Talk to me on tumblr!](https://seducing-a-vampire.tumblr.com/)


End file.
